


To Build Anew

by dasakuryo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Rogue One is there if you squint ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: Not much can be done outside with a rain this heavy, especially on Yavin IV. Luckily, the Dameron family has the perfect way to accompany the day's mood and fend off a rainy day boredoom in one go: making churros together. The warm emotions of that afternoon will come back to Poe after Crait, as he tries not to drown in the threatening and glooming future spreading before him. Perhaps, he needs a little reminder of something that happened years ago on that very planet.





	To Build Anew

**Author's Note:**

> Some Dameron family time with some TLJ aftermath and, of course, Finnrey ♥ for @lj-writes.

"Careful, Poe!" Shara's concerned yelp rises above the roar of thunder.

"I am careful, mami," said Poe, face bright with a smile from ear to ear as he carries the kettle. From its end, greyish steam swirls upwards in the air. He hands it over to his mum with a proud little shrug of his shoulders.

Kes, leaning on the kitchen's door frame, bites down a smile when Shara's face contorts into a scowl, clearly not delighted by such endevour. Poe's smiles widens and so Shara's scold falter. She grabs the kettle and slowly pours the water into the pot, while Poe rushes to get his stool.

The rain patters on the roof and the windows, every now and again the grey sky gets alight with lightning, the roar of thunder never far behind —sometimes so loud the windows rattle. Electric storms used to frighten Poe, emphasis on the used to: he's all grown up now, as he so often reminds them. He's not afraid any more.

Shara turns, a white streak doing up her cheek, and tilts her head towards Poe with a near-glare look that Kes's come to know all too well. He's quick to go to his son's aid, even though the boy insists he could carry the heavy wooden furniture just fine all by himself.

"I am sure you can, Poe," Kes agrees, a smile dangling on his lips.

He sets the stool in front of the counter, not too near the stove where the water has started to bubble up. Poe lips twitch and he gives a little sound that rings too much like a suppressed whine.

"But I wanted to help you, can't I help you now?" Kes asks, lips curving down in a feigned hurt expression.

Poe's face wrinkles into a fleeting thoughtful slightly-apprehensive frown before he nods and grabs his father's hand by three fingers, squeezing gently as a hint of a kind smile flashes across his rounded face.

"Yes, you can help, papi," he says.

His voice is soft and ripples ever so slightly, as if Poe was genuinely concerned. Kes is quick to let his lips ease into a broad grin, beaming with fondness at the boy whose fingers are tightly clasping his. He reaches out for the sugar jar as soon as he catches sight of Poe precariously balancing atop the stool to get hold of it. For a flickering instant Poe's all twisted-down lips, but his expression changes as soon as Shara's voice rings above the insistent tapping of the rain.

"Time to pour the flour in," she announces, chirpy.

Amazement rounds Poe's gaze, he grips the edges of the counter and cranes his neck to peer at the humming pot better. Thuds accompany every twist of Shara's arm, the flour and boiling water combine in clumps. Kes eyes the pot in the opposite end of the stove, and after an appreciative frown pours more oil into it. He glances sideways, just to make sure Poe hasn't moved from his spot by Shara's side. The last thing he needs is the little one coming up with the idea of helping with the frying.

There's a clank and a huff. Hair strands have come loose from Shara's messy braid, she tries blowing them away from her face, but they just fall back into place to graze at her eyes. She presses her lips together, steading her grip on the heavy pot and keeping a watchful gaze over Poe as he dusts the granite counter white.

"Ya está, mami," Poe says proudly, gesturing hastily and almost yanking the cuff of Shara's shirt.

"Easy there, Poe," Shara speaks with the shrill ripple of contained laughter, tilting the pot so the batter will fall on the spread flour. "Cuidado," she warns again, this time her voice takes a sharp edge, almost like a reprimand.

Poe nods and nods, yet gets his hands into the pot to scrub off the remaining clumps. Shara's face twists into a frown as she swallows the scold when Poe beams at her, Kes has to press his lips together to keep himself from chuckling. Shara's quick to reach forward before Poe gets his hands on the still too-hot dough clumps, and starts to knead them together under his curious stare.

"Can I do it?" he asks, after what feels like merely seconds.

Shara nods, but reminds him to let her know if it's still too hot, she'd rather finish the kneading herself than having Poe burning his hands. Kes hears Poe babbling that it's not hot, that he can do it and he can help. Shara ruffles his hair and presses a kiss to his curl-crowned head before shuffling to the cabinets. Kes glances at their son out of the corner of his eye while setting the sugar on a rectangular deep platter, sees him swiftly blowing on his reddened palms as he makes sure mamá isn't looking.

Their gazes meet and Kes quirks an eyebrow, Poe shushes and Kes winks at him. By the way Shara clears her throat when she comes back, she's no alien to the situation. There's glare simmering in that look she shoots at him, Kes manages a wan smile and blows a kiss dramatically.

"Don't—" she says, but ends up laughing.

By the time the dough is smooth, the oil has almost reached its temperature.

"Need a hand with that?" Kes asks, settling his hands on the curve of her waist, as she struggles to press the dough out of the churrera.

"No," she answers and her voice drops, almost to a whisper, when he tucks the hair strands behind her ear.

The tip of his nose brushes against her jaw, he can guess the smile spreading on her face as she lets out a short, soft sound. She leans back on his chest when he drop a proper kiss to the hollow below her ear. The task at hand is forgotten as she lifts her head and he bends forward to press his lips to hers.

"Guacala."

He can't help but chuckle against Shara's smiling mouth. She pretends she hasn't heard their son's appreciation, craning her neck and pointing at the neatly paper towel-lined tray.

"Is that ready, Poe?"

The boy nods and his curls bounce, he then jabs at the churrera with a bony finger, a shadow of a frown taking shape on his rounded face.

"But the churros aren't!" he says, his tone most disappointed. "Papá is getting in the way," he declares, a frown most definitely squishing his eyebrows together now. "And he has to fry them," he says, shaking his head like he can't believe his dad is being so irresponsible. It's almost as if he were scolding Kes with his harsh, frustrated tone.

 

With the rain drumming in the roof and fogged-up windows, the Damerons get the churros ready. Shara squeezes them out of the churrera, cutting them neatly, not too short yet not too long; Kes fries them on the bubbling oil, keeping a watchful gaze until they are golden brown, then scoops them out and sets them onto the paper towels. After they've cooled down a minute —Poe counts it very diligently—, the little boy rolls them over the sugar and places them on another paper covered platter.

The pile of churros grows taller and taller. Poe scolds papá when he bites into a churro he's not yet add sugar to.

"Behave, you two," Shara warns with an arched eyebrow, while squeezing out the dough. "I don't want to hear it," she quickly adds, as the two of them open their mouths to protest.

* * *

It's raining heavily outside, the chill creeps like a phantom underneath his clothes. Poe takes a deep breath, folds his arms tighter over his chest, almost hugging himself. He hears the shuffle of steps, but doesn't have to turn to know who's come to his side. He can recognise his father's gait anywhere.

"How are you holding up, son?" he asks, squeezing his shoulder.

Poe says nothing.

"M'hijo?"

He sucks in a breath, letting it out through almost clenched teeth when his father squeezes his shoulder again, tighter this time.

"Estoy bien, papá," and the lie burns deep in his chest. By the look his father gives him, Poe knows he can see right through him. He _isn't_ fine, not at all. But if he doesn't say it out loud, then it feels less real—

Poe has burdened his dad enough since Crait, if he can keep at least some weight off his shoulders then he will. Kes Dameron clamps his lips and gives a slight bow with his head, yet does not add anything further. No questions, no knowing glances, just a sigh and a pat on the very same shoulder he squeezed just moments ago.

The rain drones out the shuffle of his steps as he walks away. His gaze fixes on the drops hitting against the glass. A distant thunder rumbles, making the window rattle. Despite its blurriness, Poe can make out the hooded frame of Rey approaching the house. Beebee-Ate rolls close behind her, Poe doesn't know how the little round droid manages to pull through the thick mud.

The drumming of the rain gets sharper once the door whooses open. Rey meets his gaze and tries to brush the mud off her boots on the rag beneath her feet, Poe is tempted to just shrug it off and tell her to get a cup of something warm before she catches a cold or something. He's about to suggest making some tea when there's squelching outside. In the blink of an eye, Finn is readily behind Rey, waiting for his turn to wipe the mud off his boots.

Poe's lips twitch involuntarily. Finn should be _resting_ , not being out and about under a tropical downpour to get wood or only the Force know what from the Yavinian jungle. He forces his lips to curl into a wan smile, the last thing he wants his to make Finn uncomfortable.

"Those ruins were quite something," Rey says, turning to Finn.

He nods, looks down to the mud-smeared rug. It might as well be as drenched with mud as they are with rain by now, but Finn insists on swiping the soles against it. It's not until Finn makes an off-hand comment about the pyramid structure that it clicks.

"You went to the old rebel base?"

He meant it as a curious, amused question. It came out as if he were snapping at them instead, which explains the taken-aback expressions of wide-rounded eyes both of them are sporting. It also explains why all of a sudden Rey is wringing her hands and Beebee-Ate is letting out a selection of short, low hoots.

Finn opens his mouth to speak but Poe beats him to it, "I am sorry— I didn't," he pauses, lets out a long weary sigh, bringing his hand to his face, "mean it like that."

Finn gaze softens and he approaches. Poe wants to apologise again, but before he can begin to form the words Finn pats him on the shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. The necklace around Poe's neck feels suddenly too heavy, for some reason. Perhaps is the way Finn's looking at him, the comforting smile that brightens his face, that reminds him so much of his mother. Maybe—

He lowers his gaze to the floor.

"Sorry, I—”" he trailed off, avoiding Finn's gaze,"I didn't mean it like that."

Finn eyes are still soft when Poe looked at him again. Though his friend kind silent understanding did not ease the pang of guilt clenching his stomach. Poe let out a heavy wary sigh.

"We felt we had to go," Rey said all of a sudden and the fierce determination in her voice caught him by surprise. He stared at her, somewhat stunned at the her straightforwardness.

"We needed to see the old base," Finn continued, taking a step forward and resting a hand on the woman's shoulder. "See the place where—”" he paused, clearing his throat, "that changed everything back then."

"When everything seemed lost," a grave voice interjected, making Poe turn on his heels. "Just like it does now."

His father was standing by the kitchen doorway. Clouded downcast eyes, he met Poe's gaze and a flickering light seemed to stir to the surface.

Hope.

Rebellions are built on hope.

"If they could—" Finn said, voice tiny but growing stronger as resolve hardened his face. "If they could do what they did against all odds... change the course of the war, strike the first blow to bring the Empire to its knees—"

A sad smile tugged at Poe's lips.

"Then we can, too," his friend assures. "We don't have to give in, just like they did."

Beebee-ate lets out a low toot, bumping into Poe's leg. He looks down at the droid, and the corner of his lip curves lightly, then he glances up, back at Finn, and Rey, and the smile spread sure on his face. There is a sudden fluttering lightness in his chest, he has to fight down the impulse to clutch his mother's ring in his hand.

He catches sight of his father, smiling in the distance. If there is anything Poe is certain of is that he won't let his father's and their generation's sacrifice go to waste, not when they still have a chance to fight back. Not when they still have hope. Finn's right, he can't give in, even if the scales are definitely not bend in their favor. He can't just stay idle. He has to stand up and fight. He owes them, the rebels of the Alliance, that much.

It's the droid who pulls him out of his thoughts, bumping again on his leg. He crouches down, staring at the foto-receptor on Beebee's semi-spherical head. The droid emits another sound, this time a tweak, and rolls to the counter, tapping on the wooden door below it once, twice, three times. Poe takes the hint and saunters his way to the droid. He pulls the door open and Beebe peers over the edge of it, Poe's brow furrows in confusion, but then Beebee uses its flashlight to illuminate the far right corner.

A soft chuckle escapes Poe and he pats the droid's round body.

"You know what? That's a great idea."

 

Kes spies. Rey is insisting she can manage with the dough, though it's obvious by the reddening of her hands that might not be the case. Finn, the man who saved his son and to whom Kes would never be able to thank enough, tries gently to convince her to let him take over at least for a little while. By the light squishing of her eyebrows she is considering it. Kes sees a familiar light turning both their eyes fonder when they look at each other.

"Hope you've grown out of your guácala thing," he comments, off-handedly.

Poe chuckles by his side, keeping careful watch of the oil.

He turns, looking at them the the moment Rey's arm accidentally bumps the package of flour over, a cloud of white prompt to dust their arms and faces. They are standing too close, their surprised faces morph into expressions Poe remembers all too well, he can't help but smile when Finn and Rey burst out laughing.

"I definitely have."

 

**Author's Note:**

> TLJ did not allow Poe to grieve in any way, shape or form, nor did it bring up his family or their legacy, so I had to. I couldn't just not indulge into a) Dameron family feels and b) the wonder from the heavens that churros are, so there's that too. Hope you've enjoyed the read, thank you so much for making it this far :) Feedback is always sincerely appreciated ♥


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